


A Time to Be Little

by WholockHobbit88



Series: Little Sherlock and John [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: ABDL, Adult baby, Age Play, Gen, Infantilism, Little Space, Non-Sexual Age Play, age play as a coping mechanism, age play switch, experimenting with age play, little! John, little! Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-20 05:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8238121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WholockHobbit88/pseuds/WholockHobbit88
Summary: When John receives some troubling news about his family, he asks Sherlock for something that he never expected; John asks to shed his role of being Sherlock's caregiver for a day to be little himself. Sherlock, though hesitant on how best to help John, is an eager guide into John's first foray into being a little instead of a caregiver.





	1. Chapter 1

"Sherlock…oh, where, oh where could my little Sherlock be?"

Daddy is calling out my name; I can hear him coming down the hall toward my room looking for me but I put my hand over my mouth to keep from calling out. I'm so good at hide and seek that Daddy does this trick where he calls out for me because sometimes I can't resist the urge to talk to him. So, this time, I put my hand over my mouth so I don't say, "Here I am!" I'm in a good spot so I don't want him to find me yet.

I've been hiding under the bed for a long while now and it's a little uncomfortable. I'm so tall it's hard to hide myself in the small space but I manage. I'm covered in dust and I chock back a sneeze. I run my fingers through the dust on the floor and draw pictures in it; for a minuet my mind gets derailed, making a detailed catalog of what is in the dust but I push those thoughts away. I don't want my mind going into grown up thoughts right now. I focus instead on making smiley faces in the dust and nearly jump when I see Daddy's feet by the bed, walking around and looking for me.

"My goodness, my Sherlock is such a good hider; where can he be?" Daddy says loud and confused; I have to put my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing too loudly.

Daddy goes to the closet and whips it open. "Hmmm…no Sherlock there" Daddy says. "I wonder if maybe he's…HERE!"

Before I can guess it or see it coming, Daddy grabs me by the ankles and pulls me out from the bed, sliding on my belly laughing all the way.

"There you are you little sneak!" Daddy says when he pulls me out of the bed, his face smiling and his hands tickling me.

"I thought you'd never find me!" I say, between laughs as Daddy continues to tickle me. It's a good thing I'm wearing a nappy because I think I wee a little bit from laughing so much. "You're a terrible finder!"

"Oh, am I now?" Daddy asks, like he's mad but I can tell that he isn't. "I always manage to find you so I don't think I'm that bad a finder."

Daddy tickles me all over my belly and neck and feet; he even finds the small tickle spots like under my knees and just below my nappy parts. I laugh so hard my stomach hurts and I'm lost in the feeling of how fun it is to be with Daddy like this. I love getting lost in feelings; it only happens when I'm little.

Daddy tickles me until his phone begins to ring and he stops to answer it. I'm still laughing when I see his face fall and I stop laughing immediately. He looks so worried…so upset; he never looks that way. I find that I can't hear the words he's saying but I keep my eyes on his face and watch it look more and more upset. My stomach feels sick like I'm going to throw up and he hangs up and stands up.

"I've got to go, Sherlock" he says, all joy and playing out of his voice. "Harry's in the hospital again. I've got to go; it's really bad this time."

My mind struggles to be big even though I feel scared and that makes me want to just be little. "I'll come with you" I say without hesitation, making my voice sound big and strong as I can manage. Daddy looks so small and helpless and scared I want to scoop him into my arms the way he does me and makes me feel safe.

"No…..it's better if you stay here." Daddy tells me. I expected this response. Harry has been hospitalized several times over the years that I have known John due to her alcohol abuse. I have still never met her and John would have it be that way forever. I don't know why he's so set against it but he is and I don't push. He and Harry never even see each other unless she's in the hospital and even then I'm pretty sure she's horrible to him.

"Okay…I'll stay here" I say, trying to sound brave but I'm scared. I'm scared for Daddy and how he will feel seeing Harry. I'm scared how he would feel if Harry died. I'm scared I'm even thinking about Harry dying and I hope I never say something about it out loud.

Daddy gives me the briefest of smiles but it's terribly forced. "There's my good little boy" he says, giving me a kiss on the forehead before he runs out of the room.

I walk into the sitting room but Daddy is gone long before I get there. Feeling little and confused and scared, I sink to the floor, knees drawn up to my chest. There's so many feelings…I feel overwhelmed. Usually Daddy helps me with the feelings but he can't because the feelings are about him. I think about crying; maybe that will help. I try to force out tears and though I manage to get my eyelashes wet, I don't really cry so I give that up. I don't know what else to try but it's becoming hard to breathe. I put my hand over my mouth and scream into it. I feel a little bit better but not much.

I want to help Daddy. It's been a long time since he had to see Harry so it's hard to remember what to do to help him. I recall that he was sad but he didn't talk about it and the next day he was fine. This time, I want to help him but I don't know how.

Daddy and Harry are brother and sister so I try to think about Mycroft and how I would feel if he were really sick. That would make me sad even though I am bad to Mycroft so much of the time but feeling sad doesn't help me figure out what to do to help Daddy; I just feel sad. Then my grown up mind tells me that Mycroft is seven years older than me and statistically he will probably die before me, especially with his high blood pressure and high cholesterol that he won't address. Great….now I feel even worse than I did before and I still can't help Daddy.

The flat is quiet and I can hear a clock ticking somewhere. I can smell the scent of biscuits cooking; chocolate chip. Nana has to be making them and I suddenly get a great idea; I can go to Nana and maybe she can help me. Even if she can't, she's nice and takes care of me and I don't want to be alone now.

I pick myself up off the floor and go to my room to get some shorts to put over my nappy. I am just wearing my T-Rex t-shirt and my nappy which Daddy says is fine for at home but if I am around Nana or Mycroft it's polite to wear trousers over my nappy. I don't know why since they both know I wear nappies but Daddy likes me to be polite so I do it. I find the matching dinosaur shorts that go with my shirt and put them on before wondering down to Nana's flat. Personally, I'm happy Nana never found anyone to rent 221C; it's nice to be able to walk around little between mine and her flats.

I knock on the door and feel instantly better when Nana looks at me with a smile. "Aw, Sherlock. How nice to have you drop in. Thought the sweets might tempt you" she says with a wink.

"It wasn't that…I just wanted to visit" I say, pulling at the hem of my t-shirt. Normally, Nana could summon me with her wonderful sweets but this time I just wanted to see her. I mean, I will take some biscuits if she gives them to me but I was really just lonely too…..

Nana smiles. "Well, even better then" she says and opens the door a little wider to let me in. "I just got some biscuits out of the oven. We can have some tea and talk."

That sounds nice; Nana takes my hand as we walk to the kitchen and I nuzzle my head against her shoulder. Nana looks surprised I'm so cuddly but she doesn't ask me why; maybe she already knows.

"Just have a seat and I'll get us set up" Nana says brightly. She puts some biscuits on two plates and pours a cup of tea. "Would you rather have tea or juice, Sherlock?"

"Juice" I say. It's sweeter than tea and I like that.

Nana looks in the refrigerator. "I'm guessing you don't like cranberry so it'll have to be apple" she says.

"Apple is good" I say with a smile. Daddy hardly ever lets me have apple because he says it's got so much sugar. And I definitely hate cranberry even if it is good for your weeing.

Nana puts apple juice in my special doggie sippy cup that I keep at her house and brings a plate of biscuits to the table. As soon as she sits it down I begin to chomp on one. They're so sweet and warm and good that I eat two before I remember to be polite like Daddy says.

"Thank you" I mumble out between bites of my third biscuit. Crumbs spray everywhere and Nana just laughs. Daddy would say it was rude.

"You're welcome, sweetheart" Nana says, sipping her tea and smiling at me.

After a few more biscuits my stomach feels full of sweetness and I'm gulping my juice when Nana asks me, "So, where is your Daddy? He doesn't usually leave his little boy on his own."

It is then I remember about feeling sad; funny how I forgot about it so much when I was eating the biscuits. Now they feel heavy in my belly. "He's at the hospital with Harry; told me to stay here" I tell her and I try not to feel like crying. I pull my lip into my mouth so it doesn't wobble.

Nana looks a bit sad at this. "Aw, what happened?" she asks.

"I don't know" I admit, feeling sadder. I don't know why but Daddy being sad makes me sad even though I don't feel like it should. "He just told me Harry was sick and I should stay here. He looked so sad…and scared."

"And that makes you scared?" Nana asks but she asks it like it's not a question but a statement.

I nod only because I feel like if I talk I might cry. Nana reaches across the table and takes my hand even though it's covered in chocolate. "It's okay to be scared" she tells me, "When someone we care about is upset it makes us upset too."

"I want to help him" I tell her, staring down at our hands. Daddy always helps me and I want to make him feel better but I don't know how.

"Sometimes when someone is having a really tough time, there isn't much that you can do for them except be there for them" Nana tells me. My stomach sinks for a minute, thinking that that is all there is, that I can't help Daddy. But then Nana goes on. "But I'm sure that just being with you will help him feel better when he finally gets home. You are the best cuddler, you know?"

Nana grins at me and squeezes my hand and I feel much better. "I am?" I ask even though I can tell that she is telling the truth. She really does think I'm the best cuddler.

"Of course you are" Nana says, "Your Daddy is lucky because I know he has unlimited amounts of Sherlock cuddle time. I know he will feel better just having you around. And you know what else?"

"What?" I ask, excited and feeling not so scared anymore.

"Today is Father's Day. Why don't we make something special for Daddy for when he gets home?" Nana asks with a smile and a hopeful look in her eye. Nana really is the best for crafts. Daddy never likes the mess of glitter and paint but Nana has all the best crafts stuff and when I want to do crafts I come to her flat.

I'm very excited now, bouncing up and down in my chair. "Yes! That would be a great idea!" I say, full of happiness now. Maybe it won't make Daddy's problems go away but maybe I can at least make him happy when he gets home.

"Well, then, let's get to it" Nana says, taking my hand and leading me out of the kitchen. I hop all of the way, feeling even more energy from my excitement and all the wonderful sugar.

…..

I take a small nap at Nana's; I surely didn't mean to. After we made a card for Daddy, we laid down on the bed because Nana looked tired and she said she wanted some of my 'perfect cuddles' so I couldn't be mean and say no. I closed my eyes and nestled up close to Nana, feeling warm and content and then the next thing I knew I was waking up again. Right now, Nana is still asleep so I sit up and get off the bed as quietly as I can so I don't wake her. Old people need longer naps than I do so she needs to sleep longer. Me, I need to get back to my flat and wait for Daddy to come home.

When I get up to our flat, Daddy still isn't there yet. I hold the card in my hands that Nana and I made; it's full of the brightest colored paper I could find and all of the glitter Nana has and it says, "You're the best Daddy ever". And that's true; Daddy is the best possibly Daddy I could ever dream of having. I want him to know that and I hope even though he's sad that it might help him not be so sad.

While I'm waiting for Daddy I try to do any sorts of things to keep me entertained but nothing seems to matter. I try to color but it doesn't feel right. I try to build with Legos but I can't build anything good. I even try jumping on the bed but it doesn't make me feel happy like it would if I did it when Daddy wasn't around and I got away with it. I even go so far as trying to eat something for dinner because I know Daddy would want me to but it feels sick in my tummy so I just sit on the couch with cartoons on but I don't watch them.

After what seems like forever, Daddy finally comes home. He looks so tired as he walks into the room, throwing off his coat and coming to sit next to me. He doesn't even say hello or look happy to see me so that's how I know he's really upset. He just sits next to me, staring down at his lap and I feel helpless. What should I say? What should I do? I have no idea and it's not a feeling I like having.

"I made you something for Father's Day, Daddy" I say at last, surprised when the words tumble out of my mouth. I hand him the card before I see how he reacts.

"I didn't even know it was Father's Day" Daddy says, talking the card. He smiles but it looks tired.

He reads the card and some big emotion I can't place is on his face. "Oh, Sherlock…..that's so sweet of you" he says. "You're the best baby ever, you know. I really love you so much. This was so thoughtful"

I'm pleased at Daddy's words as he pulls me into a hug. I think he's happy and that I did my job right until I realize that this hug is all wrong. His arms are looped around my neck and he's hugging me so tightly that it hurts but I don't say that and then I realize Daddy is shaking.

Daddy is crying…

What's worse is that it isn't just regular tears he's crying; he's sobbing. They are loud, rough sobs that shake me every time and I'm terrified. Daddy never cries; he's always tough. I don't know what to do when he cries. I push back my little thoughts and try to be big but I still don't have any answers. I try to search my memory for a time John cried and what I did about it but I can't find one. This is unprecedented.

I just stay still as Daddy clutches me and wait for him to stop. I'm a little relieved, but not much, when Daddy's sobs lessen and he lets go of me. I fall back on the couch beside him and am alarmed by the sight of Daddy's red face, covered with tears.

"I'm sorry about that" Daddy says as he wipes his eyes. He looks embarrassed that he cried but that doesn't make sense. I cry all the time and he sees it.

"You don't need to be sorry. I just…..want to help" I tell him, hoping I can help in some way.

Daddy pauses for a long time, wiping his nose on his sleeve like he always tells me not to. "Harry's dying" he says, his voice thick and hurt, "The alcoholism is going to kill her just like it killed our father. It's horrible to watch; there's nothing I can do for her"

I still don't know what to say; it is horrible, Daddy losing his sister like that. Nothing I can say will change it so it seems it wouldn't matter to say anything. But I know I have to say something. "I'm sorry" I say because I am sorry it's happening and that's what people say when something bad happens.

"I know….."Daddy says, looking so sad and lost that I want to do something, anything, for him. Strangely enough that's when he says, "Can you do something for me, Sherlock?"

I don't have to think at all before I answer. "Anything…I'll do anything you need" I say enthusiastically. I really mean it; for Daddy, I really mean it.

"I know its Father's Day and you love me being your Daddy. But today I want to feel little like you. I need that….to forget" Daddy tells me. He looks sad and lost; he looks at me like he wants me to help him and it scares me a little bit. But Daddy always takes care of me and it's the least I can do to help him.

When I answer I let my voice get deeper and more serious, so Daddy knows I mean what I say. "I do love you being my Daddy…..but I love you being John too" I tell him. He starts to smile and when I see it I grab his face and kiss him hard.


	2. Chapter 2

John is hardly ever little. He has occasionally indulged me to be little because I wanted him to but he isn't a little and I've always known that. He's a nappy lover to be sure; he wears nappies more than he wears pants now. I did suspect this long before it came out. I could see the hints of interest but on some level thought that I was imagining it since I enjoy them so much and I wanted him to like them.

John is completely content with being my caregiver and this makes me happy. How could I be upset that he wants to take care of me all the time? For years, for as long as I can remember, I have wanted someone to take care of me and now I have that. John is the best, most attentive caregiver I could hope for. There are times that I wished he could enjoy the little aspect just to be little but mostly I just want to let him be in control.

But now, he wants to be little; for the first time ever, he's asking me to help him be little. I wish this could have come about in a more positive way; I wish he just wanted to play and be happy without the heavy baggage of his concerns about Harry. But John is looking at me with worry and sadness; he's looking at me like he wants answers. Most people think that John's always looking at me like that; they think I know everything and he just tags along but that's not correct. I'm the detective but I look to John for answers and assurance; I wouldn't be where I am today as a worldwide known detective without John. I have to admit that it scares me a little to have John look at me that way but after all that he's done for me, it's the least I can do to help him feel little and safe for a while like he always has done for me.

So, after we pull apart after our hug and I try to reassure him that it's okay that he doesn't want to be Daddy right now, I hop off his lap and hold out my hand. "Well, first things first. You need to get out of those grown up clothes. They aren't right at all for playing" I tell him, my voice full of childish command. I am concerned a little bit about how to do this but at the same time I'm bursting with excitement. I've never had a little playmate before. And who knows? I might like bossing John about.

John looks down at his clothes with some confusion, his eyes in a haze. "Okay" he says finally but his eyes are still red and he's still pale and I know he's lost.

"Play clothes, John. You need play clothes" I tell him enthusiastically. I grab his hand and pull him up and towards my room that we so often share.

"There, you sit down" I tell him, surprised how easily bossiness comes to me. Probably because I'm not completely little; I find it quite easy to boss around John when we are in our professional capacity.

John does what I ask and sits down on the bed as I rifle through our supplies. When I come back and John is just sitting there I put my hands on my hips. "You could have taken off your clothes" I say as if he should have known this, "Go on…..get those grown up clothes off!"

John looks a bit surprised by my ordering him but eventually he smiles and I like it. He takes off his jumper and button down hastily and throws them on the floor before discarding his shoes and trousers. He sits on the edge of the bed in nothing but his pull up nappy, smiling complacently at me. "Now what?" he asks, his eyes wide and his lips pulled in in that completely domicile and submissive look he has sometimes that makes me melt. He doesn't do that when he's being Daddy; only John. It makes me pause; something grown up inside me takes note. Some part of John is submissive and in that moment I think that I could have just about anything I wanted. But that wouldn't be right; not now, in this moment when he wants littleness and actually looks at me like he trusts me. I file it into my mind palace for another time, a grown up time, and move on.

"First off, you need a better nappy. That one's not good enough. On your back" I command him playfully and he lies back on the bed with a smile.

John's wearing a pull up like he often does in public because it's convenient and less noticeable but that's not for little times and it's not for being at home where he can be comfortable. As I begin to work the pull up down John's legs so I can put a proper nappy on him, I can see his grin widen; a genuine smile and it makes me feel warm inside like only John can do. I don't change John very often but he always appreciates it when I do.

I discard the wet nappy and grab a wipe to clean him up with. He wiggles around and laughs a little bit as I rub the cold wipe over him as if I am oblivious to the coldness of it all. I am not though.

"Sherlock…you could be easier!" John says as if he's not pleased but he's laughing and I know he's faking being unpleased.

"I'm helping you so stop complaining" I tell him, not unkindly. I throw the wipe away and grab a nappy. John gives me a smug smile and doesn't lift up for the nappy he normally does, trying to bait me.

I smack his bum until he lifts up and he holds himself for a moment, looking affronted. "You hit me!" he says as if he's horrified but he's secretly pleased I can tell.

"And you were trying to be a little shit. You deserved that" I say sassily.

John looks red in the face, his mouth open for a moment; he's ready to scold me for cursing and sassing him but then he closes his mouth and scowls slightly at me. He's not my Daddy right now; we are on an equal playing field right now and anything goes.

I finish putting John's nappy on and then slid his onesie over his head. He's hardly ever worn it, and only at my request; when I look back at him, the teal color complementing his light hair and the patchwork fish across his stomach and chest making him look undeniably infantile along with his puffy nappy I take pause. John must have been an adorable child; he's an adorable adult baby.

"There you go…perfect play clothes. And very cute too" I add at the end because I can see John looking self-consciously at himself. I see his cheeks flush at the praise; he's so easy to please. I love that about him.

I glance around the room at the toys and games stuck in nooks and crannies, lying on the floor, trying to figure out what we should try first. John seems littler already but he's hesitant and I can tell; he needs to loosen up. I know what can loosen him up; and even better, it's something I wouldn't usually attempt when he's my Daddy.

I rush over to John's discarded clothes and find his mobile in them. Scrolling through until I find the children's music playlists he has for me, I start one playing that has a lively tune to it and climb up onto the bed and begin to jump up and down.

I let myself get lost in the happy feeling the music instantly gives me, the sensation of the air brushing my hair back as I jump, the little hop it makes my stomach do when I jump. I get lost in all abandonment of feeling little but John is still sitting on the edge of the bed, bouncing awkwardly every time that I jump.

"Come on John…..jump with me!" I say, hoping my laughing and carefree tone will help him loosen up.

"You're…..going to…break our…..bed" John says, looking at me, bouncing higher and higher.

"Honestly, John, it's taken a harder beating than this before" I say, my adult coming out fully, hands on hips because John is being ridiculous. Break the bed, really…

It does the trick; John laughs, his cheeks pink. "Whatever….."he says in lieu of anything cleverer to say but we both can't stop laughing.

I take John's hands in my own and he finally stands up on the bed. When I start to bounce a little, John takes the lead and begins to jump too. He laughs, seems a bit nervous but he's obviously enjoying himself. "This is crazy" he says, but he's getting more into it, jumping higher and higher.

"I know…..that's what makes it fun!" I tell him, my happiness soon mirrored in John's face.

It's great; we jump and jump, until our legs hurt and laugh until our stomachs hurt. But John is happy; for a moment, for this moment, I can make him happy. I wish I could always make him happy but I know I can't; I'm just glad he can be now.

When we are too tired to jump anymore, we fall down on the bed in a heap of legs and arms, laughing and breathing hard. John's head is on my lap, on my nappy and when he turns his head to look at me I can't help but feel a curious feeling in my stomach. "That…..that'll wear you out" he says, looking tired but I know he doesn't want to give in to tiredness yet.

He looks amazing; adorable. His pink cheeks, wide smile…..the trust in his eyes. I want to pet his hair, hug him, hold him…..I want to snog him endlessly, want to see his face drawn in delight and ecstasy that I put there. I want everything all at once; John says I'm intense. But more than all of that I want to keep things light and easy for him; that's what he needs most now.

"You know what that means? We need a snack!" I tell him excitedly. I jump up so fast and abruptly that John's head jerks to the side and falls down on the bed but he's not fazed. He hops up quickly and follows me into the kitchen.

"What are we going to have for a snack?" John asks. I reached out for his hand as we walked down the hallway and he took it compliantly. He looks interested and his stomach has already growled so loudly three times since he got home that I know he didn't have time all day to eat anything. He probably should eat proper food and if I was his daddy I would make him do that. But I'm irresponsible and I throw open the freezer and begin to dig inside it for ice cream. I rifle through, pushing aside assorted cadaver bits I forgot about but there is no ice cream.

"John! Did you eat all of the ice cream?" I ask, turning toward him. I try not to be too mad at him since he's upset today but I am slightly miffed he took it all.

John gives me a sassy eye roll that he only uses when I'm grown up. "I didn't buy any ice cream. You can't be trusted to have it lying around." He says with a smile.

Now I'm more miffed. "I can be trusted!" I say, hands on my hips.

John just gives me a knowing look. "You can be trusted to eat it all one sitting and get diarrhea."

John smiles at me and I feel my face turn red; maybe that is true but I'm not going to admit it. "There must be something else in" I say, carefully avoiding the subject and beginning to rifle through the cabinets for something else to eat. Then I get a great idea.

"I know!" I say, whipping around to face John once again. "Nana has made the best biscuits ever. We need to go get some from her!"

I race toward the door, remembering how wonderful the biscuits I had earlier were and I'm almost out the door before I realize that John isn't following me. He's just standing in the middle of the kitchen, hands nervously pulling on his onesie.

"What's the matter?" I ask, frowning as I try to figure out why in the world John wouldn't want to eat Nana's lovely baking.

John's eyes get wide as he looks down at himself as if he's trying to give me a hint I don't catch. "I don't want Mrs. Hudson to see me like this" John says finally, his cheeks tinting pink.

"Well, why not? She's seen me like this loads of times" I say, not quite seeing why it's such a big deal.

"Yeah she's seen you. She knows you're little" John says, his red color increasing by the moment. "I'd prefer she not see me like this."

"Oh….."That's all I say but I'm thinking a lot more than that. I didn't even think about it but I guess that I should have. Of course John doesn't want Mrs. Hudson to see him like this; he's not little even though I am. Maybe there will be a time that John is secure enough that he won't mind her seeing him little; I hope one day he does get that comfortable. But right now I'm selfishly happy. I'm the only one that gets to see John like this; he's his most comfortable around me. John, the brilliantly strong doctor and solider, the man who stormed Afghanistan and who has taken down criminals without a second thought is standing in front of me in a onesie and a nappy. This isn't the first time that this has happened but I'm aware it in a different way. John is vulnerable around no one. No one but me.

"Okay" I say, giving John a smile and not letting him know how deep it affects me. "Then we'll just go see her another time."

John visibly relaxes as a really good idea comes to me. I begin to grin widely. "Come on, John" I say, grabbing his hand and pulling back toward my room.

"What are you doing?" John asks curiously as he watches me pull out a book from the bookshelf in the corner. He doesn't know it isn't a real book but a pretend one with the middle cut out. And he doesn't know I have a secret stash of candy in the middle. Daddy doesn't like me to have too much candy and I'm sure that he would think this was being sneaky like lying. But even if Daddy takes it away after this I still want to show him because candy always makes a little boy feel better.

"We can have some of my special candy. I'll let you pick first" I say as I flop down on the bed and set the book in the middle of it. I'd only ever let John pick first because I love him.

"Oh, you have special secret candy?" John asks, with a curious look at me. I know he wants to say something about it, as a Daddy, but the moment passes quick enough. He picks out some of the best sweets and begins to eat them. Soon his fingers are covered in chocolate and he's smiling.

"I haven't had these since I was a kid" John says, nibbling sweet after sweet.

"Good, huh?" I ask, eager to see the look of happiness on John's face. I eat all of the sweets that John isn't going for; it doesn't matter much to me. I like them all.

"I can see why you are hoarding them" John says with a knowing look and I pretend that I don't understand.

For a while we sit on the bed, hopping up and down more and more as the sugar fills up our bellies. Turns out that I didn't have to worry about John taking away my secret candy stash; we eat it all so there is nothing left. When we are finished, John sits looking back at me with a chocolate covered grin and he looks so cute that I can't help but lean over and kiss him.

I grab his face roughly and kiss him hard and for a moment he doesn't do anything. His arms hang to his sides, his lips frozen; for a moment I think I've made a mistake and made him uncomfortable. After all, I'm not sure the protocol here; I just felt like kissing him and I did. I'm not exactly little and John's not being my Daddy but still I think it might be a mistake. It seems like an eternity but it must only be a few seconds before John is thoroughly kissing me back.

At first, I'm aware of the strangeness of the sensation of nappies pressing against each other and my hands gripping the soft, babyish fabric of John's onesie. I don't kiss John like this in little space; there's a disconnect between my little self and my adult self. But now I'm half way between being grown up and little and I'm definitely having desires. After a long period of my self-consciousness, John and I finally were intimate with each other. There were no disappointments; it was everything I wanted it to be because it was with John. We've spent plenty of time catching up since. But that doesn't mean that I still don't love the wonderful kissing that we've known for much longer, the mind melting kissing that we are doing right now.

We roll around in a heap, deliciously snogging for a long time before we pull back, hot and tousled. The chocolate on John's face is even more smeared than before and with the guilty but satisfied smile on his face I think he looks adorable.

"So…uh…"John says, trying to think of something to say but he appears at a loss. He fumbles around syllables and blushes a lot and I still feel kind of dizzy.

"Sorry" I say in a rushed voice, not really knowing why I say it and I'm glad when John says, "Don't be" in a shy tone.

We sit there in silence for a long time before John finally says, "I don't think that's the sort of thing little boys should be doing. But it was…..nice"

The gentle tone John speaks in but the slightly edgy tone to the word 'nice' tells me that that's John's kind way of telling me that if we keep doing that we'll get our grown up and little mixed up and I think he's got a good point.

I recover from the incident with relative ease. "So! What do you want to play next?" I ask John as I jump off the bed with an energy he doesn't seem to have as he climbs off the bed.

John looks a little unsure. He tugs at his onesie, looks around the room and bites his lips before finally deciding, "How about we color?"

I was hoping John would choose something exciting, maybe even something that I'm not normally allowed to do but tonight is his little night and if he wants to color that's what we'll do.

"Perfect" I say excitedly, running over to the closet and retrieving the crayons and coloring books. I dump them in a heap in the floor. "Alright, you get started and I'll be right back" I say before racing out of the room. Daddy never lets me have fizzy drinks; EVER. So that's exactly what I'm going to get right now. We've already eaten more candy that I normally eat in a month so why not?

When I come back to my bedroom with two drinks in my hand John is already coloring and I feel myself pause for a moment just to watch him. Occasionally John has colored with me when I prodded him long enough but mostly he has just watches me or smiles at me while I color at his feet and he reads or updates his blog. But now, in this moment, he's into it. He has a crayon gripped tightly in each fist, scribbling as if his life depends on it. His face is red, his knuckles white as he colors so fast and furious that he rips the pages several times and gets crayon on the rug. I know that kind of coloring and it makes me a little sad. This is not carefree coloring and this isn't about art at all.

Eventually the crayons snap under John's vigorous motions and it's the catalyst. He falls forward so that his face is against the coloring book, crayon pieces still in his hands and he shakes for a moment. He beats his fists and I know he cries a little bit but somehow I know right at this moment I'm not supposed to comfort him. I let him have a bit of a fit on the floor like he's done for me so many times and I don't say anything even though it kills me a little bit.

John calms down a bit finally and when I walk up to him, he looks up at me embarrassed. I smile at him; I know exactly what to do because Daddy has done it for me so many times. I take the muddled mess of a picture and say, "What a nice picture. This ought to go on the fridge."

John looks at me slight confused but when I hand him one of the fizzy drinks, he smiles just ever so slightly and takes it. "Thanks" he said, and I know the simple word means a lot more than what it sounds like.


	3. Chapter 3

When I proposed another art activity that night, John went along with it, following me obediently toward the bathroom though I hadn't told him exactly what I had in mind. John was already yawning and I knew that he wouldn't last much longer tonight and I wanted to have a last bit of little fun with him, along with getting him into a bath before bed. John thinks I don't pay any attention to that stuff; that I wouldn't think about the fact that he needs a bath before bed. Most of the time I don't, I suppose, for myself, but I think about those kinds of things when it comes to John.

I turn the tub taps on and test the water until it's perfect and turn toward John as the tub fills up. "What are we are doing?" John askes curiously as I reach between his legs and began to pull apart the snaps on his onesie. "I thought you said that we were doing art"

"We are; trust me" I tell him confidently as I pull the onesie over his head. I don't tell him the first thought that comes to my mind; John IS a work of art just in himself. That's so romantic it's embarrassing and not me at all. But it's true.

"Okay…..I trust you" John says. Though he looks uncertain, he really does mean it. He does trust me even when he shouldn't. Even when I drag him into danger and bad places he still trusts me.

I take off John's nappy before hastily discarding my own clothes in a heap and turning off the taps on the tub before there's too much water in the tub. "Alright, get in" I command John with childish assertion so he smiles and cautiously obeys. He sinks into the water and almost immediately crumples in relaxation at the sensation of the warm water on his skin. He's completely exhausted, physically and mentally; even I in all my denseness can tell that. But he's smiling slightly and at least I know I helped him feel a bit of that.

I rummage under the sink for where my tub toys are stored and smile when I find the bathtub paints and brushes.

"Whoa!" John's brought out of his calm, relaxed state when I fight to slide into the tub with him, splashing a fair amount of water onto the floor. Our tub is not that big and I have a bit of struggle getting comfortable in it on my own; with John in it too, it's downright ridiculous to fit inside it but I'm determined. The tub was not made for two grown men but after some wrangling of limbs and a closeness to each that we could only be possible with intimate partners, I fit in.

"You do realize there is absolutely no room for toys?" John asks humorously with a smile, patting my legs that are practically wrapped around his body.

"I don't need toys. Well, except for you" I say happily, grabbing my paint and brush.

"What?" John asks in confusion for a moment but then seconds later he is laughing and squirming as I paint his nipple a bright blue color.

"What are you doing?" John says between laughs, reflexively covering his chest and smearing the paint from ticklishness. I don't often hear John laugh that much and the sound of it is like music to my ears.

"Art, I told you" I say as if John has limited intelligence and swat his hands impatiently out of the way. "That is, if you'll let me."

John tries to control himself but he still wiggles and giggles a lot as I repaint the first nipple and then the second, drawing a curved line in the middle so it looks like his chest is smiling back at me.

"That's silly…..that's not art" John says after a laughing fit, glancing down at the smiley face on his chest.

I'm watching him and feeling warm inside my chest. "Trust me, it is" I tell him, taken by the happiness on his face that isn't there nearly often enough.

At the risk of getting too-sad grown up feelings, I begin to draw lines across John's. "And now, I think I'm going to make your chest a zebra!" I say excitedly, feeling smaller as I draw lines across John's arms and chest. He smiles and laughs when I hit ticklish spots but mostly he's being a good subject for my art.

"There! Zebra John! You look excellent" I pronounce proudly as I pull back and survey him. John looks down at himself and though he is smiling, he looks less certain about whether or not he looks good.

"Do I get to paint you?" John asks finally, with some excitement. He's getting more into it and I'm only too happy to hand over the paints and paintbrush.

There's excitement in John's eyes as he looks at my body and tries to decide what to do first. I think he looks slightly up to something as he takes the brush to my skin but I am eager to see what it is that he has in mind too. I have to admit the brush DOES tickle quite a lot and I squirm almost as much as John and he has to tell me several times to stay still and not move so much. It's not long before I have a bright multicolored rainbow spread across my chest, complete with sun and clouds above it and a field and animals under it. I must say John did a much better job than I did.

"Well, look at that. You're the real artist, Daddy" I say, looking down at it. All night I've called John by his name and not Daddy because he's not being my Daddy right now. But I must be tired or something because it just came out and it sounded so little.

John ruffles my hair like he does when I'm little and smiles at me; I don't even care that he got paints all in my hair. "Not as good as my little boy" he tells me, surprising me. When I fall into his chest, we end up giggling and rolling around in the water until the floor has more water on it than the tub does and our paintings are long washed away.

…..

When John and I get out of the tub, we are hot and completely exhausted. John is yawning all the time and I can see the total fatigue on his face. We get out of the tub and I dry myself off and then I help John out. I rub him down with the towel; I tickle his belly when I get to it and he laughs between yawns. I pull the towel around him to keep him warm and we walk to the bedroom.

John's quiet now and though I know he's tired, I know that's only part of it. I wrap him tightly in a nappy and his onesie and he looks at me with tired but trusting eyes. I know it's hard for John to give up his control and let me take care of him but I'm glad that he has. The fact that John is so reluctant to give up control makes his trusting me even more special.

After I put myself in my nappy and clothes, I slide into bed with John, pulling the duvet close around us. John moves easily onto my chest, wrapping his arms around me and laying his ear against my chest. This is different than we usually cuddle; usually John is the one that holds me but this is good too. I wrap my arms around him and hold him close; though he's silent I can feel the weight of his grief and sadness like it's a cloud in the room and I long to ease it.

John rubs his face against my chest as if he's trying to hide himself in me; I can't help but notice how much stronger his hold on me becomes as time goes on. He's desperate and I can feel it; though the play time helped him forget, he's quiet and still now and it's too hard to forget. I struggle to think of something that can help him. I feel confused and conflicted because I don't know if I should ask him about Harry or pretend that the problem doesn't exist.

"Would you like me to make you a bottle?" I ask him, feeling sudden inspiration. At this, John's head whips around to look at me with a skeptical look.

"A bottle? Isn't that a bit….infantile? I don't want to act like a baby-baby" he asks. I know that's more babyish than he wants to go, even though he's already clad in a nappy and onesie. I'm not really surprised that he responded that way; even I am hardly ever little enough that I want to be bottle fed. But I know the perfect argument and know it will be just what he needs.

"Perhaps…"Sherlock said, "But you know…babies who drink out of bottles are small and innocent and they cry a lot. They can't help it if they cry; they just do and it's okay."

I can see the conflict on John's face; he's just so terribly tired and he wants to give in but he's hardwired to be tough. His family built it into him from childhood and the army reinforced it until John was terrified to show any of his feelings. Don't get me wrong, I'm against showy displays of emotions that aren't necessary. But sometimes it IS needed and this is one of those times.

"What do you say?" I prod John when he doesn't say anything. He looks uncertain still but eventually he nods.

I smile at him. "Alright. You just stay right here and I'll be right back." I tell him, crawling out of the covers and going to the kitchen.

I go to the cabinet that keeps the bottles and sippy cups and find my cutest, most 'grown up' looking bottle, one with an astronaut on it. I fill it up with milk and wait in the kitchen, bouncing on my heels as I wait for it to heat up. When it's done I walk quickly back to the bedroom, not wanting to leave John by himself for long.

When I get back into the bedroom, John's stretched across the bed with his head in my spot so he takes up most of the bed. His face is close to my blankie and I pretend that I don't notice when he pulls away from it. John moves quickly as if he's making to sit up but I stop him, hoping into the bed.

"No…you stay right where you are" I tell him happily. He tries to grab at the bottle but I push his hands away. "No, I'll do it. You just relax, baby"

John pauses for a moment but then he lays back against the bed, his head on my shoulder looking at me. I put an arm around him to cuddle him close. I prod John's lips delicately with the nipple of the bottle until he opens his mouth and takes it into his mouth. He seems awkward, uncertain, sucking strangely on the bottle before he finds a natural rhyme to drink from the bottle easily. As John drinks, he looks up me with open, wide eyes and I pet his head. His eyes are so vulnerable that it surprises me and the more he drinks and the more I tell him things like "You're such a good baby" and "I love you so much" the more the sadness in his eyes increase. I've never seen littleness on the outside and it's strange because I can almost see John's headspace going lower and lower as he gets sadder in his eyes. John's not little but the baby bottle and me treating him small is making him small enough. By the time that he is pulling for the lash dregs at the bottom of his bottle I can see tears gathering in his eyes; I'm not surprised when I pull the bottle out of John's mouth and he buries his face in my chest and starts sobbing.

I've never really seen John cry and today I've seen him cry three times. It makes me so sad and it makes little me scared but I know that he will never deal with being sad if he doesn't cry. He's so tough; he needs to feel like a little baby to be able to let go and now that he has, he can't stop. I don't know how long John cries but it is a long time. I do all that I can, holding him close and rubbing his back and assuring him I'm there as he sobs on me and makes a wet patch of tears on my shirt. He doesn't say anything and I don't ask; I just let him cry and eventually he cries himself to sleep in my arms and I still don't let him go.

…..

When I wake up the next morning I'm surprised to find that John is already out of bed. The flat is quiet and I can hear the shower running. I am bored and don't feel like staying in bed so I don't wait for John to get out. I think about how hungry he was last night and all he ate was candy so I begin to make breakfast. I hate eating and I don't want breakfast but I know John will like it; I'm half way through making sausage and eggs when John comes out of the bathroom, dressed in clean, adult pajamas, his hair still wet. He seems a bit embarrassed as he walks into the kitchen and sits down at the table. "Morning" he says, his voice slightly gruff and tired. It's awkward and I don't want him to feel awkward.

"Good morning" I say brightly, but not so brightly it seems like I'm ignoring what happened yesterday; another one of the complex social-emotional things that have been so hard for me to learn how to do.

I begin to put food on John's plate and he looks grateful but still incredibly weary. "Did you sleep alright?" I ask him when he doesn't provide any other dialogue. I sit across from him and reluctantly munch on toast.

"I slept like a rock so I suppose that's good" John says between bites.

"You were in the bathroom for quite some time" I observe. I know it wasn't what used to be his excuse for long bathroom time; John hasn't had to do that much since we've affirmed our physical relationship. But I can't quite figure out exactly what it was that kept him and I don't like not knowing. I worry maybe he was crying or something and didn't want me to see again, especially since he wasn't acting little when he was doing it.

I'm surprised when John actually gives a snort of a laugh that sprays bit of egg across the table. "Well, if you must know I had the runs" he says, looking a bit embarrassed but a bit you-asked-for-it too.

I laugh. "Ah, yes…..that would be the massive container of candy we went through. I'm feeling a bit…..affected…myself" I tell him and for a happy moment we just laugh.

For a good minuet all we do is laugh until our laughs gradually subside and John's face grows more and more serious. Not serious like he's going to cry but some other kind of serious. "Thank you for what you did for me last night, Sherlock. That meant a lot" he finally says and I feel my stomach churning with a lot of emotions and that doesn't help the candy induced sour belly. Of course I would do that for John; I would do that and so much more for him because he's my everything. He takes care of me and I know he doesn't realize I notice everything he sacrifices for me but I do and it means the world to me.

I grin at him as wide as I can. "Anytime" I tell him and I mean it. I really mean it.


End file.
